


Bonding Time

by petroltogo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, BAMF James, BAMF Tony, Crossover, First Meeting, Hostage Situations, Humour, I almost feel bad for him, Kidnapping, M/M, Nobody encourages Tony like James, Nothing good can come from this, Poor Fury, Pre Relationship for the most part, Probably Off-Screen Character Death At Some Point, Spies & Secret Agents, Strangers to Accomplices to Lovers, The Tony Is A Terrifyingly Efficient Bond Girl Without Trying Fic Nobody Asked For, The Unholy Union, questionable morals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 19:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petroltogo/pseuds/petroltogo
Summary: Double-O Agent James Bond meets Tony Stark. It goes exactly as well as Fury feared it would go.Or Five Times Tony accidentally gets involved in a secret mission, and the one time he does it entirely on purpose.





	Bonding Time

**Author's Note:**

> As a little birthday present to myself, here's a fic about a crossover I've been wanting to read but sadly seems to be pretty rare. Enjoy!

Tony wasn’t pouting. He was  _not_.

“Quit your pouting and move your fucking ass!” The guy behind him snarled (very impolitely), and pressed the gun harder into Tony’s back.

While uncomfortable, the loudly implied threat did not keep Tony from dragging his feet. For one Guy-With-Terrible-Breath hadn’t immediately shot him, which implied he had an interest in keeping Tony alive. For the time being at least. For another Tony was too busy mentally ranting to pay the guy much attention.

Because seriously, this entire situation was ridiculous. He was on  _vacation_ , for fuck’s sake. That in itself was rare enough an occurrence—no matter how often Obadiah insisted that he was young still, only twenty-three, and should be out, enjoying himself, Tony had never been very good at staying out of his own business.

It had taken Obadiah five months to convince Tony that Stark Industries wasn’t going to fall apart if he took a break on some tiny island near Spain.  _Too much like his father_ , Obadiah had grumbled, which had of course been the deciding factor in Tony agreeing to take his long put-off mandatory leave.

(He doesn’t  _mind_  vacations, just to clarify. He enjoys the partying and drinks just fine, thank you very much. It’s the lying in the sand all day sleeping and chilling that gets to him. Tony isn’t very good at turning his mind off and living in the moment. He needs puzzles to solve, patterns to predict, explosives to make boom. He needs to calculate and built, needs to keep his mind buzzing, and vacations—complete with being banned from disappearing into the workshop or talking business with his favourite engineers—don’t offer that.)

The second reason why Tony was in such a foul mood was that he had been  _responsible_. He’d carefully chosen his destination, run some pretty background checks on his hotel, other residents, the usual. He’d complied with all of Obadiah’s pointless, overboard security precautions. Just once in his life Tony had taken things serious—like everyone seemed to insist he should—and he had gotten kidnapped for his troubles.

That settled it then. He was never going to listen to Obadiah  _ever_  again.

“Any funny business,” Guy-With-Terrible-Breath growled, “and I blow up his brains before you can even blink!” As if to illustrate his point he rammed the gun hard against Tony’s spine, causing him to bow his back involuntary, hissing in pain.

Right. Because to add insult to injury he hadn’t even been kidnapped for being, you know,  _Tony Stark_. No. Of course not. Instead he’d been kidnapped for being Antonio Geaver—admittedly his worst alias to date, thank you very much, Obie—an ordinary college kid on break.

All Tony had wanted was some decent food. Apparently the lovely, little diner tucked between two awfully colourful houses had been the wrong place to seek out, because when he’d entered tables had been turned over, shattered glass had covered the floor and two men had been involved in a fucking movie-worthy gun fight. Clearly Tony had been too close to the wrong fighter, because before he even knew what was happening, he’d been taken hostage. 

By the less attractive one no less.

At least Suit-Man did appear to have something of a conscience because he had in fact lowered his gun and agreed to come quietly. Tony wasn’t sure he believed that part. He’d met enough soldiers, marines and secret agents in his life to recognise the way the man held himself as dangerous—and frankly, none of them had carried themselves with the lethal ease this one did.

Hell, Tony might have worried about his unfortunate situation of being caught between two—contract killers? spies? mobsters?—if he wasn’t so busy being pissed off.

He could be chilling at the pool right now, silently cursing Obadiah’s stupid persuasion skills. He could be eating because he was fucking  _hungry_. But no, instead he had this stupid asshole—who going by the size of his gun, had a lot to compensate for—herding him into an unremarkable, black Mercedes, and Tony was insulted.

He—and Suit-Man, who Tony kept forgetting was the real target—didn’t even earn a squadron of goons? Really? A single man with one weapon, possibly two, was all he got? 

Tony narrowed his eyes. Whoever was pulling the strings behind this shit show, they would regret this. He would make sure of it.

“Get in!” Guy-With-Terrible-Breath demanded, followed by a sharp, “Not you! You drive!” directed at Suit-Man.

When Tony didn’t comply fast enough to the man’s taste, he was pushed, stumbled against the side of the car and almost landed on his ass. It gave him a chance to grope his kidnapper though, who was armed with at least two knives. So maybe not a complete amateur.

Letting himself be manoeuvred into the backseat of the car, Tony spent most of the drive ignoring the threats Guy-With-Terrible-Breath kept spewing out and glared daggers at the back of Suit-Man’s head. He didn’t care which one took him, they were both assholes for dragging him into their shit  _without letting him eat first_. He wasn’t going to discriminate in his pledge of eternal hatred.

“Are we there yet?” Tony asked when the silence between his captor and second-captor-or-fellow-captee (the jury was still out on that one) dragged on for too long.

“Shut up!” Captor.

Quirking eyebrows silently—and quite impressively. Suit-Man.

Well. Tony had never been accused of doing as he was told.

“Are we there yet?” he asked in his whiniest voice after counting to thirty in his head.

Captor slapped him over the head because they were sitting at an awkward angle to get involved in a fist fight. He didn’t shoot him though, so Tony just sorta smirked at him through the dull pain.

“I’ve had worse from a hangover, honey.”

Alright. Maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to say. Especially not when Guy-With-Terrible-Breath’s face twisted into an ugly grimace of rage and he slapped Tony again. This time with the blunt end of his gun.

And that. That shit hurt alright. Tony blinked against the tears in his eyes—involuntary reaction, he reminded himself forcefully, not a sign of weakness—and waited for the world to come back into focus. The blow wasn’t hard enough to knock him out cold but fuck, it sure felt like his brain had been thrown around a little inside his skull.

For the time being he decided to keep his mouth shut. Not because he was capitulating of course but because thinking about too many things was giving Tony a headache and he needed to plan his revenge now. This shit just got personal.

With a low moan of pain, Tony allowed his body to slump to the side, eyes fluttering close.  _Let them think I’m more injured than they thought, best to be underestimated_. Old lessons drilled into his head by former security details from a young age on clawed themselves out of the darker corners of his mind, where he’d shoved them at some point.

 _The easiest way is to take the mark out in transit_ , Tony remembered an ex-sharpshooter telling him once. Hopefully the same went for taking out your kidnappers. Although from what little he could recall from the How To Behave When You’ve Been ‘Napped lessons, they had involved a lot of ‘ _stay calm_ ’s and ‘ _obey your kidnapper_ ’s and ‘ _don’t try to be a hero_ ’s.

Oh well. Tony had never done well with rules he hadn’t invented himself. And even those were followed on a case by case basis only.

Eventually, after half an eternity—sixteen minutes  _at least_ —the car slowed down and Guy-With-Terrible-Breath told Suit-Man to park the car.

“You go out first, Bond,” he commanded. “Step away from the car—slowly! Keep your hands where I can see them. And no funny business or this kid here goes on another holiday. A permanent one.”

Filing the name ‘Bond’ away, Tony focused on keeping his breathing even and his body relaxed. Both, to keep the ruse of being unconscious up and to keep from rolling his eyes at Guy-With-Terrible-Breath’s horrible threat.

Guy-With-Terrible-Breath got out of the car and bellowed at Tony to scoot over—closer to him, further away from Suit-Man Bond, smart move. Tony didn’t react. Predictably the guy yelled again, probably waved his gun around too. But Tony had two years of being forced to sit in on board meetings under his belt already, he knew a thing or two about keeping his facial muscles as blank as he he needed them to be.

Even more predictable Guy-With-Terrible-Breath didn’t handle being ignored very well. He reached inside the car instead, grabbed Tony’s arm and pulled so hard, for a moment Tony was certain his arm had been yanked out of its socket. By some miracle the only sound he made was another groan.

Blinking up hazily at Guy-With-Terrible-Breath Tony made a show of struggling to get out of the car. He lost his footing in an artful trip even he wasn’t sure he’d planned and fell face first into his kidnapper’s arms. The man caught him reflexively, curses and pointless threats already on his lips, but Tony didn’t pay them any mind.

He couldn’t afford to become distracted, couldn’t waste this perfect opportunity. He’d barely found his balance, hands clinging to his captor’s shoulders and before the man had finished his insult, Tony rammed his knee into the guy’s groin as hard as he could manage.

Guy-With-Terrible-Breath’s voice breaks off into a pained groan as he doubled over reflexively. Tony twisted his body around, took a hold of the arm holding the gun with both hands. Ducked down under it, not easing his grip even once. Twisting the arm around like that gave Tony the leverage he needed to hold the guy in place, force him to bow his back to ease the tension.

“Bond!” Tony yelled. “Get over here!”

Only to realise that Bond was already on his way, must have been moving the moment Tony had stumbled into their wanna-be kidnapper. Smart man. Maybe too smart.

Tony half expected Bond to dramatically reveal that he’s a second minion of who-the-fuck-knows, take control of the situation and take Tony hostage once more—if this time more carefully. But instead the man relieved Guy-With-Terrible-Breath of his gun with the routined motions of someone who’d seen it all before, multiple times. 

Not entirely convinced whether that was better or worse than being a traitor, Tony decided to slowly back away as what should have been a simple knocking out the kidnapper scenario dissolved into the two men getting into a fist fight. With knives.

Huh.

Also a lot of yelling. And the sound of sirens in the distance.

Yeah. Time to get out of here. Immediately.

“Nice meeting you guys!” Tony called out, raised his hand at the two men. Bond was currently sitting on top of Guy-With-Terrible-Breath, delivering a couple of what looked like very painful hits. His eyes flickered into Tony’s direction for a moment. Tony grinned. “You seem to do fine without me, so, you know.”

He turned on his heels, waved absently into their direction. Wasting pointless time with the police, who, if he was as unlucky as the events of this day indicated so far, would probably recognise him and ask a whole lot of uncomfortable questions, really wasn’t how Tony wanted to spend the rest of his afternoon.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” he called over his shoulder instead, then slipped around the corner and started running.

Maybe, Tony considered a couple of minutes later—after it became clear that nobody was following him—he’d finally get that lunch he so desperately wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> This might qualify as another rare pair. I seem to have a thing for those lol. Tell me what you think!!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr: [tonystarktogo](http://tonystarktogo.tumblr.com/).


End file.
